


His Lady's Mercy

by Lady_Therion



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: The Lady of Perranth shows mercy to few.





	His Lady's Mercy

Lorcan’s wife was born to rule.

His wife _for true_ now that she assumed the mantle of the Lady of Perranth, a mantle she wore more grandly than any queen he ever encountered.

It gave him no small amount of pleasure to stand by Elide’s side. To watch her hold council and receive her petitioners, and there were many. She received them all equally—viceroys and generals, rebels and thieves—and granted special favors to no one.

Her judgement was uncompromising and fair. Her decrees as wise and clever as the goddess who watched over her.

It did not take long for commoners and nobles alike to realize that Elide was not her uncle. She was not inclined towards ambition or susceptible to flattery, despite the many oily sycophants who showed up at their door.

They came from far and wide, crawling out of the corners of a broken kingdom like rats. Where were they when Marion Lochan was gutted and left for dead? Where were they when Cal Lochan was branded as a traitor, his head spiked on a wall for all to see?

And the excuses these vermin dragged into the great hall of Elide’s ancestors never failed to raise his hackles.

“That’s why I need you here, my love,” his wife would tease. “What would I do without my warrior husband glaring and growling at all our rivals?”

It was all he could do to hide his smirk. Elide had no need of him any more than a wyvern needed another tail. But even now, years later, he could refuse her nothing.

So there he stood, a fixture to the right of her high-backed chair, his cloak and leather armor emblazoned with her family’s crest and house colors. Though he knew he looked more like her royal guard than her lord husband, she never failed to ensure her petitioners addressed him properly.

 _Lord Lorcan Salvaterre Lochan_.

He would have been content to serve as Elide’s sword and shield for the rest of his life. It was more than he deserved. He had bowed his head and bent his knee, pledging himself to her and Perranth for as long as she would have him.

 _Tell me what do to, my lady,_ he had begged. _I live and die by your command._

But she only shook her head and bid him to rise.

 _Why are fae males so damn dramatic?_ she had asked. Then she kissed him and told him she had many loyal vassals to be her sword and shield, but she would only have him and him alone as her consort. The only one she would share her bed and body with, her heart and soul with…if he would have her.

To say that he was fuckstruck would not have been accurate. The appearance of Hellas himself could not have shocked him more.

And to think he once thought no lover of his would ever break him, to turn him into a decent male... To earn her forgiveness, and her hand, was more than he ever thought possible. A true act of mercy given all he’d done.

And his lady wife showed mercy to few.

He would know—had even put his blade to the throats of the many courtiers who sought to undermine or deceive her. His wife brooked no tolerance for them. Her decision on their fates was always equal to their sins and merits, and if they happened to have more of the former than the latter….

Execution would be too quick for his Elide. No, when it came to meting out her worst punishments she preferred Anneith’s penchant for a slow and methodical death. Her particular brand of justice caused a stir among allies and enemies alike. No one had ever expected such a small and delicate woman to have a spine made of steel, a heart made of iron, and a wit that could cut sharper than any knife.

And it never failed to stir his blood—or his cock—when he saw all of her skill and cleverness on display.

That evening was no exception. And when the latest would-be usurper was seized and dragged from the the great hall, he barked at the rest of her vassals to get out and barred the doors himself.

Then he turned and stalked towards her, his steps hastening over the slight rise of the dais. The wicked gleam in his eye was a twin to the one on her own.

She arched a perfect brow, a flush of heat blooming over the swell of that lovely bosom.

“I know _that_ look,” she said.  

He gave her a feral grin, baring his sharp canines, before leaning down to claim those full red lips. His kiss was gentle and patient. Only when she began to clutch at his leathers did he part the sweet seam of her mouth and plunder it with his tongue. He could have done that for hours, for years.

But there was something else Lorcan wished to do with his tongue instead...

Elide’s eyes were bright and eager when he collapsed onto his knees, undoing the laces of her gown so he could admire her gorgeous breasts. He kissed them both, soft and reverent, looking up from beneath his lashes to watch her bare her throat in ecstasy.

“Lorcan,” she whispered. “ _Oh…_ ”

He loved seeing her like this. He loved pleasuring her this way.

So he went lower, sliding up the silken layers of her skirts and spreading her legs as far as they would go. Then gently coaxed her to place them over his shoulders, mindful of her ankle. He nipped at the sweet flesh of her inner thighs, leaving a trail of bites and bruises until he reached his destination.

Gods above, she was already so _wet_. The scent of her arousal hardening him instantly.

She gasped—or rather _yelped_ —when he bent to lick a long and steady stripe through the lace of her undergarments. He did it again and again until he was rewarded with another soaked rush of his wife’s desire.

She whimpered and writhed beneath him, gripping fistfuls of his hair, until he pushed aside the gauzy fabric to thrust his tongue into her warm center.

If only her petitioners could see her now. Panting and arching and near sobbing for relief as he worked at her with his whole mouth, using his centuries-worth of experience to tease and torture and torment. If only the entire _court_ were here so they could witness how the Lord of Perranth showed his devotion to his wife…

She surged against him as he skimmed the jewel between her folds with the edge of his teeth. Adding just enough pressure to send her soaring before he plunged his fingers into her.

The cry she gave was a choked gasp, as she bit down on her own knuckles to keep herself from screaming. If she did, then the whole castle would hear. Some primal and possessive part of him didn’t think he would mind.

And when she came against his mouth, her muscles clenching and spasming around him, he made sure to lap up every last drop.

He wished he could have a painting of her like this. As wild and debauche as the wood nymphs in Doranelle, except a thousand times more beautiful and cunning. Her body was warm and throbbing from the aftermath of her release, but something told him that she had yet to be finished with him.

“My lord,” she murmured, caressing the rough-hewn planes of his face. “My lord husband.”

A hot fervor coursed through his veins as she coaxed him to sit in her place and sat astride his lap. Then removed his belt and tunic.

And when she sank her quivering body onto his, throwing her head back as she filled herself to the hilt, it was he who thrashed and snarled and cried “my lady wife” loud enough for the entire castle to hear.


End file.
